


Let it come

by PTWL



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff with little plot, I have no excuse for this I just wanted some soft sapphics, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pen Pals, Post-Game(s), Retirement, and they were ROOMMATES, they are just living their best lesbian lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24665599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTWL/pseuds/PTWL
Summary: [...]Paracelsus only notices the late hour by the turned sign hanging from the shop’s door. She walks slowly as if trying to surprise Audrey, not like such a thing is possible! She embraces her from behind, taking a look at the letter she’s reading. There is a small crate over her counter, clearly marked as correspondence. She reaches for Paracelsus’ hand in companionable silence as she unfolds the paper for her to read more comfortably. She only chuckles when she leans closer, using her head to rest her chin and get a better look.[...]
Relationships: Grave Robber/Plague Doctor (Darkest Dungeon), minor Crusader/Highwayman (Darkest Dungeon)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	Let it come

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this one (not like I have for the others lmao) but this is mostly plot-less and just...domestic retired lesbians. Sometimes my little wlw heart needs this sort of stuff...  
> Enjoy.

She has taken the day off to do the monthly stock taking. Paracelsus writes down the numbers of spare uses she has left for each of her supplies and how much of which herbs she needs to prepare her refills. She has most plants at home, hanging from walls, growing in small pots all over the place, and every windowsill. Their kitchen is a clutter. Green and fragrant and full. But they know how to navigate through their mess.

She can hear Audrey scolding her new apprentice from her workshop. She lets the girl take the easiest works if she’s too busy with big projects. And, of course, she has a Summer wedding for which she has to mend the old gown of the bride’s mother since she wants to wear it as well… Paracelsus almost feels sorry for the young woman. Audrey can get quite...snappy if under pressure. Ha! She knows well after that pick to her face! Audrey still gets overtly dramatic asking for her forgiveness whenever she remembers her. And that alone is reason enough for Paracelsus to never quit doing so.

She moves around the house, picking up the plants she needs to begin with her brewing session. Paracelsus doesn’t even care about trying to shoo away the many cats that often lay in their front porch. After discovering a single mouse on their first week on this house, Audrey grew obsessed with growing catnip to help them get rid of any sort of pest. Too bad that now they have a small army of felines constantly lounging close to their home.

As morning draws on, she can smell their food being slowly cooked in the oven. She should try to get as much work done soon, before hunger distracts her further. Making sure her study is well- ventilated, she puts on her reliable plague mask. Safety first. These days, she barely uses it anymore in her daily routine. Who would have told her five years ago? Here, they didn’t even ask for her license so she could practice. Fools, the lot of them.

None of them seem to know about the awful horrors in the state at the end of the Old Road. Just living their little lives, heedless to their almost inevitable demise. There is a certain pride in knowing the truth. In sharing the stories of all those who made it possible, with their names written by theirs. Even the brigands are much less adventurous here. Paracelsus can tell that Audrey finds all this neverending peace and quiet almost tiresome at times but then she remembers the Hamlet and she welcomes back this tranquility with open arms. Their small cramped house, their model citizen jobs, the certainty that they would see the morning after that…

Once her poultice is done, she leaves it to settle so it won’t be as reactive. Paracelsus only takes her mask off once she’s out of her study, letting it hang from her neck. She enjoys leaning against the door that separates Audrey’s shop from their house, looking at her work, completely absorbed. She is almost done with the gown. Embroidery work is long and precise, though, and she might still take another week to fix the shabby dress.

Lucie, Audrey’s apprentice, turns around to glance at her in confusion. She must be around fourteen. “Do you need something, Doctor Paracelsus?” It feels awkward but she still gets the boost every time the girl addresses her like that.

“Just strolling. Are you staying for lunch, Lucie?” She’ll be able to work on her next remedy after their meal. From there it should be faster.

The girl shakes her head. “Mother wants me to go home earlier today. I have already asked Mistress Audrey for permission.” Paracelsus lets them be before Audrey groans about slowing down their work pace. She is grateful that they would be, most likely, on their own for the rest of the day. She likes it better that way. She always has some equipment to repair or clean anyway.

Paracelsus notices as she goes through her shelves in their room, looking for her records, that Audrey’s favorite candle is almost completely used up. It is large and wide and leaves their bedroom smelling like lemongrass after five minutes. A present from Dismas by mail from a few months ago. It never fails to amuse her. Perhaps that’s why she has been quick-tempered to poor Lucie today. If she’s done with her work early, she could take some time to write to him to buy a few more like this for her.

Paracelsus has never considered herself an extrovert but she enjoys hearing from their former companions from time to time anyway. The Heiress is taking care of the state. Even with the monsters gone, she still needs to make it feel like a livable place and, possibly, even attract more people to settle. She had insisted on them to send their letters to the Hamlet at first so they could write to each other easily until they were able to settle down. Some of them are still on the move and she wonders if the Heiress still takes her time to read those letters as well, busy as she is and worn from their campaign.

Once her files are corrected and safely stored somewhere more reasonable, she can take a look at the oven. She can tell Audrey is going to be stuck working on the bodice for a long time by her grunt when she dismisses her apprentice for the day. However, Paracelsus is fast to call the girl through their kitchen window and offer a furtive mouthful of their grilled turnips and kale before her partner notices. Teenagers would eat anything, Paracelsus has plenty of scientific prooves about that.

Only the smell of gratin cheese seems able to tear Audrey away from her work. She walks into their messy kitchen as if in a trance, noticeably exhausted. This commission is a large project but, despite the large income, Paracelsus begins to think it isn’t that profitable considering Audrey’s mood. She’s more than elated to take her kiss when she sits by her side, thighs pressed together, and barely any space between them.

“Sorry, love.” She hums to Paracelsus’ shoulder as she hides her face against her neck, trying to find some peace there. “I’ll be over with this order as soon as I can.” Audrey sounds awfully uncertain about those words but she can’t blame her.

She answers with a kiss to the crown of her head, serving their shares of food peacefully. “Take your time.” Now that they aren’t covered in blood, mud, and monster bile round-the-clock, Audrey’s hair always smells delightful. She puts something in it that softens it and makes it run between Paracelsus’ fingers like silk. The scent has sunk in their pillow, easing her whenever she takes a breath of it.

She enjoys listening to Audrey ramble about her day. She complains about her work, yes, but she can’t fool Paracelsus anymore. She knows she finds the challenge exciting too despite the effort. A way to test her skills, in which she can pour her focus. Audrey often asks her of her thoughts on her different patterns and designs but she is of little help and can only give her her uneducated opinion. Paracelsus loves her enthusiasm though and how proud she looks after each difficult order. Audrey would smile and hum cheerfully about how it was nothing but a cakewalk, just as in those dungeons, but, oh, Paracelsus knows how she likes the praising anyway.

Lunch is their mid-day break and they rarely spend it apart. Soon, it would be too warm for something like this when the sun is so high up. At least they settled somewhere green, by a stream, where plants are overgrown but not so much that it looks like the Weald. It keeps the weather mild and pleasant all year long. Or most of it. Perhaps a tad stifling during summer, when heat sinks through the canopy and it feels like a monstrous hothouse. If only they could go somewhere slightly cooler for the summer...

The evening is slow work and quiet time. It is still productive but way more taxing than the early morning. She hears Audrey talking a couple of times from her shop. Probably with a customer. The path from the village to their home isn’t a long one and it’s a well-signaled one too. Not that far into the grove that it gets dangerous. Even a blind man could follow the stream up either way. It is still secluded enough that Paracelsus doesn’t feel like she’s being scrutinized because of her experiments. The perfect place to investigate the many uses of herbs in peace. Albeit with the occasional welcomed opportunity to test their performance on subjects willing to partake in her discoveries.

Once the least noxious and reactive concoctions are done, Paracelsus is free once more to roam around peacefully as she lets them settle and the gas clears away from her studio. She peeps in Audrey’s shop, taking her mask off for the day. Audrey often says she even acts like a birdie, tilting her head to the side whenever she’s curious about something. And she certainly is now.

Paracelsus only notices the late hour by the turned sign hanging from the shop’s door. She walks slowly as if trying to surprise Audrey, not like such a thing is possible! She embraces her from behind, taking a look at the letter she’s reading. There is a small crate over her counter, clearly marked as correspondence. She reaches for Paracelsus’ hand in companionable silence as she unfolds the paper for her to read more comfortably. She only chuckles when she leans closer, using her head to rest her chin and get a better look.

How dare that fool to foresee her move? “So a gift…?” Paracelsus hums against the crown of Audrey’s head, glancing at the package. Not that she’s mad at him at all. It just would have been nice to order them herself, to do something nice for Audrey. Laughing together at Dismas’ surname would never get old though. _Quincey_. She can picture him awkwardly signing the letter with his full name. There used to be little use for surnames in the Hamlet, only name or preferred nickname and their specialty. So the first time they received any mail from this _Dismas Quincey_ it surely was an experience. It was as if they suddenly were respectable people and not just some former ragtag mercenaries that bonded over surviving nearly certain death time and time again.

“Nay, darling. He said these are samples.” Audrey finally opens the box, taking off the lid and peering inside. Four candles about four inches tall each, lightly dyed to tell them apart. Paracelsus watches as Audrey leans in to take a deep breath with her nose inside the box, clearly enjoying herself. “He’d like me to try these out for him.”

Paracelsus can’t tell right now what he has used for each but the dulled mix smells slightly of something warm and caffeinated for breakfast. She has always been a caffeine aficionado and the scent brings her comfort. “Good taste…” She lets Audrey be enthusiastic about her newest samples and reads the letter once again. “Don’t you think it would be nice to send them something in return?”

Audrey is inspecting a light pastel green candle, close to pressing the wax flat against her nose. She glances at her partner, blinking in surprise. Paracelsus can’t hold back her fit of laughter. A fine lady indeed!

She doesn’t even stop when she nudges between her ribs gently, chuckling herself. At last, they manage to stop and calm down, taking slow heavy breaths to ease themselves. With a gaze, Audrey is up, carrying her cherished box somewhere safe. She has already tidied up her shop for the night. Paracelsus follows her around. She can picture Dismas’ voice clearly as he complains about his previous unsuccessful attempts at making something different or Reynauld’s stubbornness. Looks like someone isn’t taking too well coming to terms with being already fifty and still wants to think of himself a young man.

“I am not entrusting my best linens to some greasy mail boy to spoil.” The answer doesn’t surprise her. Audrey takes pride in her trade and pays little mind to those who chastise her for doing so. “Nor should you send any pottery or glass either.” She goes back to their kitchen to reheat their morning leftovers. It won’t take long but they can sit and enjoy each other’s company meanwhile.

Paracelsus sits by her side, frowning deep in thought. Mayhaps they could take the chance. Audrey looks ecstatic as she lights her green candle, like an overexcited child eager to play with their new toy. If she is done with her shift early tomorrow, Paracelsus could set a warm bath for the both of them to soak in once Audrey’s workday is over too. She doesn’t mind having to deal with the heavy buckets on her own if she can sink in her arms and take all the time in the world there.

“Summer there, up North, must be fresher…” She hums, finally letting the idea out to roam between them. She glances at Audrey, trying to get a glimpse of her reaction.

“I mean,” She is already in doubt. “how long could it take us to get there? Two weeks on foot? These brigands are weak and disorganized. They can’t go back to Vvulf anymore with their tails between their legs.” Who would have thought they would be able to talk about Vvulf with ease? The man set fire to any buildings that were on his way, promising to turn the result of labor to ashes. Yet here they are, alive to tell the tale. Unlike him.

Paracelsus lays her head into Audrey’s shoulder, breathing in the scent. Pears. That’s nice. “We could set off once the wedding is over. Two weeks to get there, another with them and two more back home.” In truth, she misses their companions. Yes, even the religious freaks like Reynauld or Damian. It must be nice not having to pretend with everybody but one person that those things you have endured don’t exist. “Old man Quincey” She manages not to crack up right there somehow but she smirks either way. “sounded concerned about Reynauld’s back. I could check him up better than any third-rate countryside physician.”

“Careful there, doctor. Aren’t you a countryside physician too now? Never took you for a chiropractor.” Audrey’s teasing feels familiar. Sweet, and warm despite its edge. Somewhere to fall back for comfort after an exhausting day. She is all too used to it to bother her. “And an unlicensed one, for the matter!”

That, however, Paracelsus can’t let go. “At least I went to university! Do you think anyone in miles around us has walked those halls?” Did she have to quit after her las experiment? Yes. But it isn’t like anybody in the Hamlet but Alhazred cared for higher education and, even as a professor, he had little good to say about it. If that doesn’t say a thing or two about the institution, Paracelsus can’t think about anything else that would.

“Easy, easy.” Audrey puts an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to kiss her forehead. “My brave little doctor.” She croons, gently headbutting her head against Paracelsus’ in a display of cat-like affection. That’s what she is. She likes cleanliness and peace, basking in the sun and staying as far from trouble as possible.

This place is oddly fitting for them. Paracelsus can’t help but wonder if the gruesome Weald was once, or will ever be, like this home of theirs. Healthily lush and full of life, wild yet at peace. There is no use in wondering how it would have been if the Ancestor and the Hag hadn’t laid their hands on that land. It would have probably succumbed to corruption by proximity as well. A waste. Albeit dangerous, Paracelsus has taken many samples of its unique local flora over their contract. She still values deeply her flasks with blighted roots and her collection of fungi tissues. However, she’s like very much to avoid fighting against unrecorded species if the opportunity rises again.

Now they don’t eat with the same urgency anymore. Paracelsus feels no need to shove a can of peaches down her throat while walking down a dark corridor. But she is still ravenous in an unladylike way. Audrey doesn’t judge her for it as she also joins in, wiping the platter clean with brown crusty bread until there is no more melted cheese sticking to it. That means more food and less work doing the dishes.

Here they always have wine as well, to wash the food down with a surprisingly affordable local red. Audrey has taught her how to drink, not for the sake of losing consciousness, but to actually enjoy the liquor. How much a cup should be filled and for how long must it breathe before it is ready to drink or smell. It reminds her of the works of alchemy she has done earlier today. Under the table, she can feel Audrey kicking her shoes off and stretching her legs lazily. Paracelsus snorts when her ankles crack loudly.

“Oh, Light be good. I am afraid I am in terrible need of a chiropractor myself! Where on Earth could I possibly find one?” She laments dramatically, with her lips red and moist from drinking.

Summer is still months of work away and so is the wedding Audrey is overdoing herself so much for, as well. Even tomorrow seems way too far or clearing the kitchen up when her partner needs her. Paracelsus has broken the Hippocratic oath a thousand times without an ounce of remorse. Yet now, she feels this compelling impulse to come to her aid hastily.

Summer will come and go and Audrey’s lips will still taste like wine. She’ll still smell like fresh linen and lye soap. And her eyelashes will still tickle her when she opens her eyes after a long kiss, faces so close. She’ll still chortle at her when she takes a long strand of hair between her fingers and combs it all the way down until she leaves a kiss at its ends.

Let it come. It will find them ready.

~~P.S.: It’s been a few years too since we last met and I can’t help but miss those stressful days we shared at the Hamlet: the messy barracks, our troublesome cohabitation, the usual ruckus during lunch hour... I have this apprentice I told you about a couple of times. A rowdy little lass. She makes me think of you girls often. Don’t you both miss it too? Sometimes? Please, tell me I don’t sound like a pitiful old man that wants his kids to visit.~~

Yours faithfully,

Dismas Quincey

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the mindless fluff.  
> In truth, I think I found it sort of hard to write because, for the most part, nothing happened? But, well, sometimes you just got to write some drama-less self-indulgent comfort fic.  
> Part of this fic is slightly inspired in A Day by MnM_ov_doom (https://archiveofourown.org/works/11541261/chapters/25913985), which I've read at least 10 times. Seriously, check it out. It's a classic. I've asked them for permission.  
> Let me know if you liked it or if you would be interested in a sequel.


End file.
